


Corsets and Conspiracies

by Selenay



Series: Dangerous Instruments [2]
Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Steampunk, Edwardian Period, F/F, First Kiss, Getting Together, London, M/M, Role Reversal, Trope Bingo Round 3
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-15
Updated: 2014-03-15
Packaged: 2018-01-15 20:03:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,182
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1317529
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Selenay/pseuds/Selenay
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>"Out of the women in the room, who is the trained spy and who is the university student?" Darcy asked.</em>
</p><p>Ordinarily, an infiltration and theft job would be Natasha Romanov's home territory. But this one is different and she needs an accomplice. Darcy Lewis, however, brings more complications than just her lack of training. </p><p>(Sequel to The Clockwork Murders.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Corsets and Conspiracies

**Author's Note:**

  * For [fahre](https://archiveofourown.org/users/fahre/gifts).



> For a prompt from Fahre: "Darcy/Natasha, Edwardian steampunk AU, For once Darcy gets the sexy undercover job with the corset, and the lace/ruffles/bows, and Natasha spends the entire mission trying not to visibly drool."
> 
> Obviously, she was angling for a Clockwork Murders continuation and I couldn't resist obliging. Hopefully I got most of the requested elements in! Huge thanks to [chaneen](http://archiveofourown.org/users/chaneen/pseuds/chaneen) for the beta and to Fahre for the excellent prompt that gave me an excuse to return to this verse. I'm assured that it's coherent to anyone who didn't read the first fic (but maybe slightly more fun for people who have). Title is shamelessly borrowed/adapted from "Curtsies and Conspiracies" by Gail Carriger, which is an excellent steampunk recommendation.

_London, July 20th, 1908_

Darcy put her cup of tea down carefully on its saucer and looked around the room. "So, why me?"

The look in Darcy's eyes was an odd mixture of curiosity and excitement, which was exactly what Natasha had been hoping to see. If there had been any sign that Darcy was frightened or worried about their proposal, Natasha would have called the entire scheme off without a moment's hesitation. She'd been moderately confident that wouldn't happen, but she'd warned Clint and Coulson that she had no intention of forcing Darcy to do something she was uncomfortable with, and she had been completely serious.

Thank goodness Darcy was as fearless as Natasha had hoped. It was one of the many qualities Natasha admired about her.

Darcy's fashion sense, however, wasn't one of those qualities. Today she was wearing a visiting dress in a becoming shade of green, but despite the warm July weather, she'd paired it with two light woollen shawls in clashing colours, and a hat with the oddest arrangement of feathers and flowers Natasha had ever seen. It was the shawls that Natasha objected to the most: they obscured Darcy's shapely figure and they made Natasha feel too warm just looking at them. She suspected Darcy had chosen them to conceal fraying seams.

It was a hot July. Natasha intensely resented the corsets and petticoats she was obliged to wear in company, and that was despite wearing the lightest clothes she could get away with without causing a scandal. Darcy had traipsed across London--through the Underground, no less, which was hotter than hell in July--wrapped up like an elderly maiden aunt, and it was a miracle she hadn't fainted in the heat.

Coulson leaned forward and gave Darcy a kind smile. "Why you? Because you're the right person for this particular job."

"And we can't do it because neither of us looks good in a dress," Clint added with a sly grin. "We don't have the, er, right shaping for it."

Darcy shot him a glare, and Natasha hid a smile by taking a sip of her tea.

"Out of the women in the room, who is the trained spy and who is the university student?" Darcy asked.

"Natasha can't do it," Clint said. "She's already known in the household."

Darcy looked thoughtful for a moment, before saying, "Huh. Was that before or after you turned over your new leaf?"

Clint gaped for a moment and Coulson looked like he was going to protest about something, but Natasha held up a finger and allowed Darcy to see the small smile curving her lips. "I was there for information only," she said. "Someone might recognise me, though, and it might not be a good idea for anyone to wonder why a former maid is now a...shall we say...paying customer?"

Darcy's eyes widened, but she grinned anyway. "Good enough for me. But why can't you just break in and steal it?"

Clint tapped the walking cane propped up against his chair. "It's not the kind of place that closes down nice and quiet for the night and I'm not really up to running along rooftops yet. Getting blown up was maybe not one of my best ideas."

Coulson pursed his lips, probably remembering those hours of waiting to find out whether Clint would live, and Natasha felt a pang of sympathy for him. Caring for people was painful, sometimes. It was why she'd always tried to avoid doing it, although recently she seemed to have fallen into the trap without noticing until it was too late to stop.

"This job isn't really a good candidate for their skills," she said, forcing that thought aside. "It's more my area of work, but as they know my face there, we need another face. Your face, if you're willing to help us out."

"And it's just the one book you need from the library?" Darcy said. She picked up a miniature lemon cake and popped it into her mouth whole.

"Just the one book. I can even tell you exactly which shelf it will be on and the colour and style of the binding."

"Find me a few more of those little cakes and I'll consider it," Darcy said, with a wicked smile that Natasha knew meant she would say yes.

It was the most perfectly beautiful wicked smile she'd seen for a long time.

Natasha rang the bell for her maid, planning to feed Darcy as many little cakes as she needed if it would keep that smile on her face.

***

Natasha was unsurprised to receive a note by the evening post inviting her to take tea with Clint at her earliest convenience. She suspected the request wasn't entirely Clint's idea, but Coulson still seemed wary around her and they both preferred to maintain the pretence that she was solely Clint's friend. The letter was phrased politely, but the words 'earliest convenience' made her smile. She hurried upstairs to change.

It was an easy matter to sneak into Coulson's house through the back garden later that night. Clint was already waiting in the kitchen with a pot of tea and a bottle of good vodka when she slipped through the kitchen door.

She kissed Clint's cheek and sat down at the well-scrubbed table. They probably looked a peculiar pair--Clint in his shirtsleeves and unknotted tie, her in a black jacket and scandalous trousers--but they'd always fitted together somehow despite their differences. Perhaps there were fewer differences now that they were both settling into something that might almost be described as stable, respectable lives.

"Tea?" Clint said, with a hand on the pot. "Or something stronger?"

Natasha chuckled. "You should already know the answer to that."

His grin was wide and cheerful. "Vodka it is, then."

He poured and they saluted each other silently before drinking. Natasha could remember half a dozen evenings when they'd got drunk together, but never in settings like this. Never in a warm kitchen with a comfortable armchair in the corner and the smell of yeast in the air.

"You didn't invite me here just to drink Coulson's vodka," she said, as he poured them each another measure. "This is Coulson checking on me, isn't it? I recognised his handwriting on the note."

Clint set the bottle down carefully. "No. This is both of us. Phil is the one who writes pretty letters, though."

"You're concerned about involving Darcy in this."

She said it flatly, a statement rather than a question, but Clint looked thoughtful anyway.

"We all agreed that she was the best person for the job," Clint said. "And we've all seen that she can hold her own in a fight if she's got the tools. We just wanted to be sure that she'll have the tools for this, if she needs them."

Natasha smiled. "Don't worry; she'll have them. I'll dress her myself and I've got a couple of...tools...she can have at hand should anything go wrong while she's in there. If it will make you both feel more comfortable, Coulson can come with me and be waiting in the wings to save her if it becomes necessary."

"Waiting in the wings?"

"In an alley across the street," Natasha clarified. "Or on a rooftop, although there will be no good reason for Darcy to leave the ground floor, so a frontal assault will be more direct if we need to rescue her quickly."

"How will you know that she's in trouble?"

"One of her tools will be a whistle. It's remarkable what can be concealed in plain sight with a few paste gems and some polished brass."

"You could probably ask Stark to build us something that doesn't need her to have enough breath to blow into a whistle," Clint said. "He owes us a few favours."

"You'd trust something Stark built?"

"I'd trust something Stark built before I'd trust most people's shit."

Natasha acknowledged the point with her glass and took another sip of vodka. It was very good vodka. She felt strangely flattered that Coulson had taken the time and expense to acquire it instead of the kind of rotgut most people served her if they found out her heritage. When she'd been drinking with Clint in his wagon in the circus, she usually hadn't been in a state to complain about the quality of his alcohol. There were definitely some advantages to be had from trying to look respectable.

There were a lot of disadvantages as well, such as formal visiting hours, and the ladies who constantly tried to invite her to their card parties and charitable committee. It was a relief to have other interests to occupy her intellect--even if they were dangerous interests now that she had a permanent place in society--because she might have screamed or stabbed someone with a letter opener otherwise.

"This was never how I pictured you settling down," Natasha said after a few minutes of comfortable silence. "It all looks very domestic."

Clint smiled crookedly. "I assume you're not including the masked-vigilante-avenging-evil work I'll be doing when I'm finally steady on my feet again."

"You're a valet," Natasha said. "You cook his breakfast, and brush his jackets, and you have a chair by the fire. That's the life you're leading most of the time."

"If we ever leave this place, I'm going to miss my chair by the fire," Clint said, with an unexpectedly thoughtful expression. "I've had some good naps there. It's got some good memories attached."

"Maybe Coulson will bring the chair with you."

"I don't think we'll have the right kind of kitchen for it," Clint said. "A modern kitchen with all the latest appliances is one of the features on The List. My chair will look wrong in a place like that."

Natasha could almost hear the capitalisations in his voice and she bit the inside of her lip to restrain her smile. "List?"

"The list of features we absolutely can't do without. Except there isn't a flat in London that actually includes everything on the list and Phil won't settle for anything that isn't perfect."

It sounded like a stalling tactic to Natasha, but she was careful not to say that. She'd seen the way Coulson's expression softened when he thought nobody knew he was looking at Clint and she had no doubt about the sincerity of his feelings. On the other hand, this house had probably been his home in London for his entire life, and it wouldn't be easy leaving it. He'd continued living here even after he'd shut up most of the rooms because they were more than he'd needed. Leaving had to be weighing heavily on his mind, despite all the good reasons he had for doing it.

"Do you have a copy of the list?" Natasha asked.

Clint shook his head. "We've talked about it enough that I can remember most of it. Some of it's weird and probably only makes sense to someone like Phil: the right address, shit like that. Some of it I understand, though. He wants a way to come and go discreetly, so the neighbours don't start asking why we're going out at all times of night. And he wants electricity, no gas lamps, and running hot water that isn't powered by one of those big steam machines in the basement."

"Is there anything else?"

"That's the important stuff. I guess he knows how many rooms we'll need and I'm supposed to have my own room even though I..." His ears turned red and he coughed. "I guess we'll have guests sometimes, and he doesn't want anyone asking questions."

"That seems wise," Natasha said. "I might know a couple of places that you'd both find acceptable, if you wouldn't mind me making inquiries."

"I wouldn't mind at all," Coulson said.

Natasha turned and found Coulson leaning against the frame of the door leading into the hallway. He was dressed for his club, but his tie hung loose around his neck and his shirt collar was unbuttoned. She rarely saw him so relaxed, and she wondered whether or not he'd known she was there before he unknotted his tie. He probably had. He'd written the note, after all, and he'd deliberately phrased it so she'd know not to wait until social rules said it was acceptable for her to visit.

"Good evening," Natasha said. "Or should that be good morning?" she added, with a smirk.

Coulson acknowledged the hit with a small smile. "It's barely two o'clock; I think we can allow good evening for an hour or so yet. Were you serious about making some inquiries for us?"

"It's the least I can do for an old friend and his employer," Natasha said with a sly smile. "I might also be able to find someone to clean for you. I know several women who know the value of discretion and would be hard-pressed to be shocked by anything they saw in the course of the work."

"Really."

"Absolutely. My Annette is very skilled at removing unusual stains on my clothes without raising an eyebrow, and not a word has ever been breathed to anyone who might be interested in my business. It should be a simple matter to find someone equally flexible for your household." 

"I wouldn't want you to go to any trouble," Coulson said carefully, although the light of interest in his eyes indicated he was mostly saying it out of politeness. "You have much more important business than solving my domestic problems."

"There are more than enough hours in the day for me to do both," Natasha said. "I'll only be providing you with a few names, after all. Viewing flats and interviewing staff will be your business after that."

"What we mean," Clint said, "is thank you, we're very grateful. We'd really like any help you can give us."

Coulson stepped into the kitchen to stand behind Clint, resting a hand lightly on his shoulder. There was surprise in Clint's eyes when he looked up, and Natasha deduced that even such a small display of physical affection was unusual when they had company.

She bit her tongue to choke down the temptation to remind them of exactly how she'd learned about their relationship.

Now that Coulson was standing in the light, Natasha noticed a small scrape on his jaw. There were scratches on the back of the hand on Clint's shoulder as well and it looked like Clint had noticed them as well. He frowned down at Coulson's hand, and his fingers twitched on the table, as if he was fighting against the instinct to touch and reassure himself that the injuries were superficial. Clearly Coulson hadn't spent the entire evening at his club.

Natasha swallowed the last of her drink and stood. "I should be going home. It's late and Annette will be waiting for me. It doesn't matter how many times I tell her not to, she refuses to retire until I'm home."

"I'm familiar with the problem," Coulson said.

Clint shrugged, unconcerned. "A good valet--or lady's maid--can't rest until their employer is safely tucked up in bed and doesn't need them for a nightcap or to clean up bullet wounds."

"It happened once."

"That kind of thing sticks in a guy's head, boss."

"So far, my maid hasn't needed to stitch up any bullet wounds," Natasha said, offering them both a small smile. "I try to avoid having those, as a rule."

"It happened once!"

"It's the part where it happened at all that worries me," Clint said, with a challenging look.

Natasha slipped out through the back door while their attention was on the argument. She had a strong suspicion that they'd soon forget she was there anyway, and she definitely didn't want to still be around when the bickering turned into something less confrontational. Clint had looked like he wouldn't be happy until he'd made a thorough examination to be sure Coulson wasn't hiding any injuries.

She was many things, but she wouldn't be a voyeur to her friends' relationship. Not again, anyway.

***

"I don't think this is going to work," Darcy said, staring at the mass of silk and ruffles hanging from a screen in Natasha's bedroom. "Have you seen me? That dress is never going to fit me."

Natasha touched the sleeve of the dress, enjoying the smooth feel of the fabric under her fingers. "It will fit."

"How?"

"If we lace your corset properly--"

"I lace my corsets!"

Today, Darcy was wearing a neat suit in brown wool with a pretty white shirtwaist and a tie. Compared to many of the rigs Natasha had seen her in, this one looked almost stylish. A style from last year's patterns, definitely, but she looked trim and tidy and the cuffs and skirt hem weren't fraying or worn. She was wearing a subdued hat and she'd left all her shawls at home. Even her gloves were cotton instead of striped wool.

She also looked much too warm for the weather. Natasha was absolutely certain that Darcy was wearing a winter suit because her purse hadn't stretched to a summer one, and the dress from a couple of days ago was probably still sooty and sweat stained from her last journey across London. It was the only way to explain why her wardrobe was so completely unsuitable for the hot July weather.

Natasha reluctantly pulled her eyes away from contemplating Darcy's figure under the heavy jacket.

"You lace your corset as loosely as you can," Natasha said, raising an eyebrow. "Or Doctor Foster does it for you, at least."

Darcy sighed guiltily. "We like to be able to breathe, and Jane spends half her time bent over her equipment or staring through telescopes. She'd cut off the circulation to her head if she tried to do all that with a tight corset."

"Today, you don't need to be able to breathe," Natasha said. "Today, you just need to walk into a house, remove one book, and walk out again. You can breathe comfortably after it's over."

"You say that with so much confidence."

"I'm very confident that you can do this."

Darcy stepped forward and twitched a frill, looking sceptical. "Really? You really think you can get me into that dress?"

"I really think we can get you into that dress."

"And the dress is that important?"

"The right dress can create the role you're playing. They'll be so busy looking at your clothes; they won't care what you're doing or who you are."

"Fine. If I fit into that monstrosity, I'll..." Darcy trailed off, looking thoughtful.

She was probably trying to think of a suitable item to wager, so Natasha waited patiently for a moment. A dozen potential ideas raced through her mind--it might be the perfect time to demand a kiss as payment--but Natasha couldn't seem to make herself suggest any of them. It was a strange feeling, because she was usually very good at taking advantage of this kind of situation. She'd certainly used a wager to begin a seduction a few times, but it didn't feel right here.

"If I fit in that dress, I'll let you dress my hair as ridiculously as you want!" Darcy declared eventually.

Natasha smiled. "You'll already have to let my maid dress your hair, if you're going to look right in that dress. That's not really a wager. How about this: if you fit into that dress--which you will--I'll buy you a good supper and you can have that book on political theory from my library that you've been pretending not to read every time you visit. I'll even tell Annette that she has to lace you to exactly your specifications when you change back into your own clothes."

"It's a deal," Darcy said after a moment's thought.

***

Darcy puffed out a breath and tried to sag against the bed post she'd been using as a counterweight, but the tight corset wasn't amenable to sagging or anything else resembling bad posture. Annette wisely left the room while Darcy recovered from her ordeal.

"Are you trying to kill me?" Darcy said. She tugged at the top of the boning. "I really, really can't breathe in this thing."

Some of her dark curls had come loose while she and Annette fought to squeeze her into the corset. Natasha clenched her fist and hid it in her skirt so she didn't give into temptation to touch them, to brush them away and trace the shape of Darcy's collarbone with her fingertips. Or perhaps her lips.

The corset, correctly laced, had pulled in Darcy's waist more than Natasha thought suited her, but it also did things to her silhouette that were very distracting. Natasha usually never allowed herself to get distracted by a woman's breasts, but then she'd never spent much time around a woman like Darcy before. They only had a couple of hours to transform Darcy into the kind of woman who would have business in Leicester House, and there was no time for distractions. Forcing her focus back on the mission--and not on Darcy's body--took more willpower than Natasha was used to needing, but she managed.

"Take shallow breaths and don't exert yourself," Natasha said. "Otherwise you'll faint.

"I'd worked that out already. It's why I hate wearing these things. If everything goes to hell, I'll faint before I can run away, and then we'll all be in trouble."

Natasha smiled and picked up the reticule she'd left on a table in the corner. Stark had protested that he was an engineer, not a jeweller, when she'd asked him for the devices inside. It had taken Pepper's influence, and the promise of an unspecified favour, to persuade him. The effort had been worth it, though, just for the expression in Darcy's eyes as she examined her tools.

"That's like the electric guns we used at Crystal Palace," Natasha said, pointing to the pistol Darcy pulled out first. "Smaller, and it's only got one charge in it, but it carries some punch and it's freshly charged. The other one is an alarm."

The alarm was disguised as a pill box, and Darcy turned it over in her hand to examine the engraving on the lid. "How does it work?"

"Press here--" Natasha touched what would have been the clasp on a real pill box. "--and it makes a racket we'll hear from three streets away, if we have to. Not that we'll have to because we'll only be across the street, but..."

"I promise, I'll activate it at the first sign of trouble. Before that. I'm not a hero; I won't try to handle it by myself if they start to look at me funny."

"Good." Natasha swallowed down the threats of dire retribution against anyone who hurt Darcy. It was unprofessional, and she thought Darcy might not take them the way she intended. "You should finish dressing."

Darcy eyed the dress dubiously, but she didn't say anything. She picked it up and disappeared behind the screen, even though the attempt at modesty was probably far too late.

For a few minutes, the only sound was the quiet rustle of silk, as Darcy pulled on the dress and Natasha paced around the room. Her bed was right there, neatly made and inviting, and she could easily picture Darcy sprawled on the covers with her dark hair spread around her. Darcy would smile and laugh and hold out a hand, and Natasha would straddle her hips and kiss her until she was breathless.

The intensity of Natasha's longing for that took her by surprise. Not the warm want surging through her body; that was something she could conquer or use later. It was the ache for Darcy specifically that surprised Natasha, because she'd always been able to rise above these kinds of vulnerabilities.

Maybe Clint had been right when he'd asked whether Darcy was the reason she was staying in London. She'd been so sure a few weeks ago that Darcy was just a passing fancy, and she had a dozen other good reasons--including Clint--to find a more permanent base than she'd allowed herself before.

"Can you help me with the buttons?"

Natasha turned and watched Darcy step out from behind the screen. The dress was completely over the top, the kind of thing only a very rich and very foolish young woman would buy, but somehow it didn't look ridiculous. It looked uncomfortable, and the skirts were too full for Darcy's usual long stride, but it removed all traces of Darcy-the-student from the room and reminded Natasha forcefully that Darcy was much more than that.

"Buttons?" Darcy repeated, turning so Natasha could see the long line of tiny pearls. "This dress really wasn't designed for someone dressing on their own."

"But you have managed to fit into it."

"Just."

"Tell me where you want to dine and I'll make sure the meal is their finest."

Natasha concentrated on pushing each button through its hole, so that she didn't give in and press a kiss to the back of Darcy's neck. Her fingers didn't shake or fumble and she congratulated herself silently when she reached the last one.

Of course, that was when Darcy turned to look over her shoulder and said, "I'd like to dine here, if you don't mind."

The last button was slippery and refused to obey Natasha. She had to try three times before it conceded defeat.

"If you'd prefer, I can have one of the hotels send over a meal," Natasha said. She took two careful steps back and met Darcy's gaze with her blankest mask firmly in place. "It shouldn't be too late, as long as nothing goes wrong this evening."

"That would be perfect."

"Obviously you can't take the Underground home tonight. It's not safe. I'll pay for a cab to take you after."

"Thank you."

Natasha couldn't interpret Darcy's small smile. If she had to give it a name, she would have called it 'smug'.

She turned away and rang the bell for Annette to dress Darcy's hair.

***

A carriage bearing a coat of arms on the door rattled past Leicester House, and Natasha couldn't stop herself from smirking at it. The tree-lined street looked far too quiet and respectable to be home to a fine house of ill-repute for rich women. It was London's only such house and Natasha sometimes thought it was very unfair that men could pay for companionship on almost any street corner, while women had to be wealthy and very discreet.

She suspected most women didn't even know what Leicester House was when they drove past it. Those who knew definitely didn't broadcast that information. Whether that was from embarrassment or selfishness, Natasha had never entirely decided.

She took a couple of steps deeper into the alley as a steam car went past with a series of guttural belches. 

Coulson shifted his shoulders against the wall he was leaning on. "Darcy has been in there for a while. Are you sure she's alright?"

"It's barely been fifteen minutes," Natasha said. She didn't have to look at her watch. "The madam will still be interviewing Darcy to establish tastes and preferences. It's an important part of her protocols. When she's finished, she'll leave Darcy in the library to read some resumes and choose someone she might like to spend an evening with."

"That's when she'll steal the book?"

"That's when she'll steal the book. She'll pretend to be panicked about what she's about to do, and leave as soon as she has it. Half the women who visit the house panic and leave the first time."

"Did you?"

Natasha shrugged. "I was just a maid."

"Really?"

"You doubt me?"

Coulson hesitated before answering. "You seem like a very pragmatic woman."

"Trust me, my client would have had to pay much more for me to be anything else, even in a house that good. I could get all the information they wanted just through being in the right place with my brush and pan."

"You got a lot more information that just what your client needed, I'd guess."

Natasha smiled. It was a nice change to work with someone who could read between the lines and find the right conclusions. "If I'd wanted to, I could have made enough in blackmail from that job to last me a lifetime."

"Why didn't you?"

"Most of the women who visit that house don't deserve that kind of heartbreak. They're looking for the sex and comfort they can't get in their relationships. Or they're alone and this is the only way to get what they need safely. Blackmailing them would be cruel."

"It wouldn't stop most people."

"I know."

They both lapsed into silence after that. Natasha folded her arms across her chest and leaned against the wall opposite Coulson. Her eyes never left the front door of the house as the sun dropped lower on the horizon and the thick summer air began to cool. It wouldn't get cold tonight, but the slight hint of a fresh breeze was welcome.

The dusk was deepening by the time the door opened and a figure stepped out. She was briefly silhouetted against the bright lights inside before the door closed. Natasha risked moving closer to the alley entrance to peer at the woman, trying to make out Darcy's shape under the enveloping cloak and large veiled hat she was wearing. It was impossible to be sure, but Natasha thought she recognised Darcy's gait as the woman walked down the steps.

A cab rolled up almost as soon as the woman's feet hit the pavement. The driver had probably been waiting further down the street in anticipation of picking up a fare here. As he drove away, Natasha caught a flash of white on the ground where Darcy had been standing. She waited until the cab rounded a corner before hurrying across the street.

There was a white handkerchief on the cobblestones and Natasha smiled when she made out the monogram in the corner.

"I assume that means something?" Coulson asked.

Natasha held out the scrap of fabric for his examination. "If it had been the one with daisies stitched in the corner, she would have been unsuccessful and there might be a suspicious madam inside we'd need to deal with. This is proof that we don't need to worry anymore."

Coulson passed the handkerchief back with a smile. "That's excellent news."

"I'll bring the book to you as agreed, and you can pass it on to your contact with the Metropolitan Police."

"We both look forward to it. Please give our regards to Darcy."

"I will. Goodnight."

Natasha turned to walk down the street, leaving Coulson behind to find his own way home. She felt lighter now that the worst was over and she was surprised to discover that her stomach felt empty and hollow. A good supper was definitely in order.

***

Light footsteps on the stairs alerted Natasha when Darcy finished changing into her own clothes. Natasha opened the lid of the contraption that had been hissing and bubbling in the corner for more than half an hour, and a spicy scent filled the dining room.

Darcy sniffed as she entered, and a smile put a mischievous look in her eyes. "That smells delicious."

Natasha carried a tureen of soup to the table and ladled some into their bowls. It was still piping hot, and she restored the container to its compartment in case they wanted anymore later. There were other courses, so it seemed unlikely, and Annette would be more than happy to finish it if they couldn't.

"You don't have to serve me, you know," Darcy said.

Natasha shrugged and sat down. "I wanted to."

"It tastes as good as it smells," Darcy said, after she'd taken a sip. She looked over to the warming machine and her eyes widened when she saw the coat of arms on its side. "You really didn't have to go to this much trouble. Honestly. I would have been happy with---"

"I wanted to go to this much trouble," Natasha said. "Indulge me. Please?"

Darcy hesitated for a moment before shrugging. "I guess if you want to buy me supper from somewhere I'll never be able to afford to eat, I can't say 'no'."

She didn't protest any more after that, not even when Natasha produced several more rich dishes from the heating machine. All she did was smile and taste and make happy sounds at each new course.

They talked as they ate, about Jane's work, and the latest society gossip, and the research Darcy was doing on her own. Natasha learned a bit about Darcy's background, and she returned the trust, although she avoided any stories about her work. Darcy already knew the general outline, and that was the important part. The details were stories Natasha didn't like telling anyone.

After the last plate had been scraped clean, Darcy folded her napkin and put it neatly beside her plate. She laid the book she'd taken on top of it and sat back. It fitted into Natasha's hand easily when she picked it up and she stroked a finger down the worn binding.

"When you told me what happened in that house," Darcy said, "I don't know what I was expecting. The resumes they gave me were so..."

"Innocuous?" Natasha suggested. "Who did they give you?"

Pink colour filled Darcy's cheeks, but she met Natasha's eyes levelly. "Gregor. Anna. Mary. Maya."

Natasha smiled. "Maya must be new."

"I was supposed to be pretending to buy them for the night. They seemed so...normal."

"Gregor was a student when I worked there," Natasha said. "He needed a patron to support him while he studied."

"He's studying for a doctorate," Darcy said. "According to his resume."

"Sex is only a small part of what happens in that house. Most of the transactions are of a longer term nature. If men can keep mistresses, why can't women do the same? They just need a more discreet way to arrange the details."

"That makes a really strange kind of sense." Darcy paused. "It doesn't bother you that she picked three women for me?"

Natasha leaned forward and put her hand over Darcy's where it rested on the table. She smiled and rubbed a circle against Darcy's wrist with her thumb, never letting her gaze leave Darcy's face. "It doesn't surprise me. I'd hoped she would."

"Oh."

Darcy's blush deepened, but she turned her hand so she could squeeze Natasha's hand. It was a simple gesture, but it made something warm and happy unfurl in Natasha's chest.

They sat like that for a while, until Darcy coughed and looked down at her plate. When she lifted her head, the blush had faded, but there was a suggestion of wicked laughter in her eyes that made Natasha feel much warmer than she should.

"So, what is this mysterious book I stole for you?" Darcy asked. "Or will you have to kill me if you tell me?"

"I think it's safe to tell you," Natasha said. She tried to keep her expression neutral and dry, but it was impossible when Darcy was looking at her like that. "It's a cipher key."

"How does it work?"

Natasha's skin felt chilled when she pulled her hand out of Darcy's. She opened the book and flipped through a few pages until she found an appropriate one. It was an intricately detailed illustration plate, and she held it out for Darcy.

"Do you see those numbers in the corner?" She waited until Darcy nodded before continuing. "That's the key. The parts are scattered through the illustrations. Someone with a very good analytical machine can use it to decipher documents. Only a few copies of this book were ever produced and they all contained the key. This cipher hasn't been used for years. Or that's what I thought until a couple of weeks ago."

"How good would the analytical machine need to be?"

"Very good. Perhaps as good as the one the Metropolitan Police have."

"Inspector Fury hired you to steal a cipher key?"

"I didn't say that."

Darcy snickered. "Of course you didn't. He probably hired Coulson, knowing he'd hire you."

Natasha sighed and closed the book. "You're too intelligent. I can't confirm anything, you know."

"I know. So, Inspector Fury needs a cipher key. I wonder what he's got his hands on?"

"You should stop thinking about that now." Natasha gave her the severest look she could manage, which had as much effect as she expected: none. "Really, stop thinking about it. You'll just get yourself into trouble."

"Why don't you give me something else to think about, then?"

The words, and the way Darcy suddenly seemed to be sitting very close, even though their chairs hadn't moved, combined to make Natasha's heart beat faster. She wetted her lips unconsciously, and Darcy's smile widened.

"Kiss me," Darcy said. "That's what this has all been about, hasn't it? This supper, all those invitations to tea, having Mr Stark make me an electric gun of my own: you're trying to seduce me."

"Is it working?" Natasha asked. Her voice broke on the last syllable and she cleared her throat.

"Kiss me and find out," Darcy said.

They'd been sitting close enough for their knees to brush through their heavy skirts throughout the meal. Leaning across the corner of the table to kiss Darcy was awkward, and Natasha felt graceless and uncomfortable, but then their lips met and it was worth the discomfort. Darcy's lips were warm and soft, and she kissed with a fire that surprised Natasha for a moment. Maybe she should have expected it: Darcy was enthusiastic and excited about all the other parts of her life, why should this be any different?

Natasha slid her hand into Darcy's long, loose hair and leaned against the table for stability. Darcy sighed into the kiss and her lips parted. The temptation to just sweep in and take possession was overwhelming, but Natasha had waited for this moment, so she took her time. She tasted and teased, swallowing each gasp Darcy made and pressing closer. Darcy's fingers danced along her jaw and down her neck, to settle on her shoulder and clench in the fabric there.

They only broke the kiss when Darcy's chair gave an ominous creak and they both froze. Natasha pressed her forehead to Darcy's for a moment and reluctantly sat back. She wasn't sure how she'd ended up almost draping herself over Darcy's lap, but it had felt so good.

Darcy touched a finger to her kiss-swollen lips, and the look she sent Natasha was filled with a confused mix of desire and uncertainty. "Are you going to think that I'm a hopeless innocent if I admit that don't know what happens next? Between women, I mean. I'm not that much of an innocent. Is there a protocol I should follow or some kind of coded signal I'm supposed to give, or can I just...ask?"

"Do you want to stay here tonight?" Natasha asked, smiling because Darcy was charming and lovely and more desirable than any of the more sophisticated women she'd met in the past.

"Or you could say that and I could stop babbling," Darcy said with a grin. She paused, a tiny frown appearing between her brows. "Wait, you were talking about me and you in a bed together? I'm not totally misreading this?"

Natasha smiled. "You're not."

"Good." Darcy stood up and held out a hand. "Lead the way."

"You know where my bedroom is."

"Uh huh. But you're taking me to bed. I figure that means I can't just race on ahead and hope for the best this time."

"Won't Doctor Foster worry when you don't come home?"

Darcy's next kiss was filled with promise, and sent heat flooding through Natasha's body.

"Jane is at the observatory," Darcy said when she pulled away. "Doctor Selvig is with her. They won't notice I'm gone until tomorrow evening, at the earliest."

Natasha took her hand and stood up, pressing a hard kiss to her lips as she went. "Thank god for scientists."

"Thank god for clear skies," Darcy said when they broke apart. "Otherwise we'd have to wait or find a way to get a message to Jane so she didn't call out Scotland Yard to look for me."

That thought made Natasha hesitate for a moment, and the brief pause allowed the rational part of her brain to start working again. There were dishes stacked around the table and the heating machine was still burbling away. Normally she wouldn't have worried about something like that--she employed people precisely so she didn't have to worry about tidying--but now, she found herself looking for an excuse to procrastinate. Were they moving too fast? Darcy was eager now, caught up in the kisses and the moment, but would she feel the same in the morning?

Darcy lifted their joined hands. Her lips were soft and warm as she kissed Natasha's fingers, sending tingles up Natasha's wrist and arm. "I thought I was supposed to be the terrified one, shamelessly asking to spend the night with someone I've barely kissed?"

Natasha carefully tucked a stray lock of hair behind Darcy's ear, watching as Darcy's eyes fluttered shut for a moment. The tight band of worry that had started to squeeze her chest suddenly loosened, and she ruthlessly fought down the urge to kiss Darcy again. They'd never get upstairs if she did that, and there was only a certain amount of scandal she could expect Annette to overlook.

"You're sure about this?" Natasha asked. "I can get you cab if you're not, or we can just sleep tonight if you'd prefer. I wouldn't want--"

Darcy shook her head. "No. I'm sure about this. Yes, I've never done anything like this before, but that doesn't mean I haven't thought about it. Every day since I met you, actually."

"Oh." Natasha blinked, feeling unexpectedly stunned by that revelation. "Every day?"

"Every. Day." Darcy's smile turned wicked. "Sometimes several times a day. I'm a bit vague on the details, but you can show me. Can't you?"

"I can do that," Natasha said.

Darcy chuckled, and followed where Natasha led, up the stairs and to the bedroom and onto the cool sheets of Natasha's bed. She allowed Natasha to lead in everything for a while, until she understood what they could do together and showed that she was a good student in every way possible. Afterwards, Natasha held Darcy close, listening to her soft breaths as she slept. The way she felt as she lay there was unfamiliar, and it took her a long time to work out what it was: peace and contentment.

Natasha fell asleep at dawn with a small smile on her lips.


End file.
